Take a Third Option
by AzureSkye23
Summary: Sequel to Postliminium, Aqua Regia, and Donatio Mortis Causa. Celebrimbor has two options. But why should he be bound by a dichotomy where he hates both choices? If the only other course of action he can come up with is certifiably insane...well, at least he can claim it runs in the family.


I staggered through the door, not passing out only out of sheer stubbornness. (I had plenty of that, if nothing else at the moment.) Annatar, Sauron, Mairon, whoever—whatever—he was was sitting, still in the chair I'd bound him to. His face was remarkably blank, only a slight wariness in his face and posture speaking to his fear.

The fear was utterly understandable, since he was facing Galadriel, Gil-galad, Elrond, and Glorfindel all at once. Still, for all his focus on them, his eyes snapped to me first, as I clung to the door frame.

His focus drew the attention of everyone else in the room.

"Ah, good, Celebrimbor," Galadriel said when she saw me. "You have this creature's ring, do you not? We must discuss what order the destruction must be in to ensure his complete demise. We do not want—"

"No," I interrupted as I pushed off the door frame and staggered into the room. Elrond's face furrowed into a worried frown, I absently noted, but Galadriel's sudden frostiness held the majority of my attention.

"What do you mean—" she began coldly, overlapping Gil-galad's horrified "You haven't taken it yourself—"

"No," I interrupted again. They fell silent. "Those were always the options. Take it, or destroy him. It was one or the other. No other option." Elrond was looking really concerned, now, and Glorfindel was starting to look worried himself.

"No other options," I repeated again. "But why? Why should I be bound to what is?" I grinned, a little crazily. No one else in my family ever had, after all.

"Celebrimbor, it is too dangerous to leave the Ring intact," Glorfindel said carefully, soothingly. "And claiming it would destroy whoever did it. We don't have a choice other than to destroy it. It will destroy us all if we don't."

"No, it won't," I assured him. "I've made sure of that." I pulled the mithril chain around my neck out from my collar, careful to avoid the vicious burns I'd gained while welding the thing shut around my neck. A simple, powerful golden ring hung innocently from it. Power to write the equation of the universe. I'd made up my mind. I didn't want a silver throne, or a taxidermy mockery of what could be—but I wouldn't snuff out the golden light and life. I couldn't. If there was no other victory to claim, I would claim this. I would not be forced into the choice Annatar wanted. I would believe in redemption—but I would not yield to him.

I would sell my soul first.

"I've done the same thing he did," I told my stunned audience. "I poured myself into the chain the same way he poured himself into the Ring. He can't use it. He can't get it off the chain without destroying both. You can't use it. I can't use it. The only way you'll get it from me if you take my head with it, and destroy my very soul along with the Ring. So you feel free to take it, and start a kinslaying worse than anything my family started, if you want that to be your legacy. But it is not going to be mine."

I stared them down as they all stared at me like I was crazy. I couldn't blame them. It had been. My family had always been prone to it. It was probably going to happen sooner or later. I had learned, in this Second Age of the sun, that I was a Fëanorian. I would be proud of that. I would redeem that. And if it took something crazy, well... so be it.

"What have you done," Elrond breathed in horror.

"I've won," I told him simply. "I will not yield. I believe in redemption. Dispossessed I may be, and dispossessed I may remain forever, but that is something they cannot take from me." I laughed then, despite my lightheadedness, and disorientation, and the sickening feeling I'd lost something vital. (It seemed oddly akin to blood-loss. That was it. I was suffering from spirit-loss.) I laughed, clear and clarion and fey. A true son of my house.

"We need to discuss this," Gil-galad said firmly. "I cannot say I approve of your actions, Celebrimbor. We will discuss this, and inform you of our decision after the evening meal." With that, he turned, offered a very pointed arm to Galadriel, and pulled Elrond along with the other, Glorfindel trailing them. When they were gone, I stumbled over to stand swaying next to the chair the Maia still sat in, looking at me with an unreadable expression.

"Why?" was all he asked as I stood looking down at him, golden and life and with unfrozen variables in his future now.

"I told you," I began,

"No," he cut me off. "Believing in redemption is not a sufficient reason to risk your very soul for another. Why?"

I would have answered, but at that moment, my legs very inconveniently decided to give out. I resigned myself to a painful landing, but it didn't come. The Maia caught me, chains chiming with harmony and discord, but above all else with promise of what could be. He pulled me close, and suddenly I had a very real need for him to understand.

"My father, my grandfather...they thought love and obedience were the same. Like you do. But I didn't stay because I didn't love. My mother, my grandmother...they didn't stay because they didn't love. They stayed...because they loved so much they couldn't follow."

I looked up at him with eyes that could no longer see clearly. I was going to faint. But I needed him to understand.

"You didn't loose me, Annatar," I murmured. "And I couldn't loose you."

"Oh, Tyelpë," he breathed into my hair. "You fool. You utter, utter fool."

But it was whispered into my ear like an endearment, and I slipped into unconsciousness with a smile.

* * *

**So yes, I'm alive. And yes, writing a sequel to the little series Crackers and I wrote two years ago. *shrugs* At this point, whatever I can write, I'll take. And yes, I'm working on Reclamation. And the gift fic for Crackers that was supposed to be for her birthday, which at this point may not get finished until her next birthday. (Sorry, Crackers!) Reviews may or may not feed the muse, but they will be received with much squeeing and happiness. **


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